


Sonnet 190

by neglectedtuesday



Series: The Steter Network Monthly Prompts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autumn, Creature Stiles, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Steter Network Monthly Prompts, Weredeer Stiles, prompt: orange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/pseuds/neglectedtuesday
Summary: Peter pushes the textbook away from him, rubbing his eyes. Sixteenth century grammar is starting to grate on him, after the eleventh sonnet he’s beginning to loathe the form and everything it stands for. It would be masochism to continue reading.Peter stands up, reaching up high to stretch his back. He winces when he hears his shoulders pop. He’s been in the same position for too long, he needs to do some exercise, get out of his room. It’s only mid afternoon, he doubts they’ll be any objection from his parents if he goes for a short run, especially if he promises to stay human the entire time.





	Sonnet 190

**Author's Note:**

> For The Steter Networks Monthly Prompt: Orange 
> 
> I wasn't going to write anything but then I had a lecture/seminar on sonnets and Petrach's sonnet 190 was mentioned and I was instantly inspired - I've always been taken with the idea of weredeer Stiles though it's often only in Sterek fics. Anyway - enjoy this porny drabble.

Peter pushes the textbook away from him, rubbing his eyes. Sixteenth century grammar is starting to grate on him, after the eleventh sonnet he’s beginning to loathe the form and everything it stands for. It would be masochism to continue reading.

Peter stands up, reaching up high to stretch his back. He winces when he hears his shoulders pop. He’s been in the same position for too long, he needs to do some exercise, get out of his room. It’s only mid afternoon, he doubts they’ll be any objection from his parents if he goes for a short run, especially if he promises to stay human the entire time.

//

The forest in October truly is a beautiful sight. The smell of rot and decay hidden beneath a kaleidoscope of riotous colour. Sunlight streams through the falling leaves, dappling the ground and casting an orange filter over the whole scene.

Sweat trickles down Peter’s face, his top lip is damp and salty. He’s been running for a good hour, pushing himself hard. His muscles are beginning to feel the strain but it’s a good ache. He hears the rush of the river in the distance, not too far off and adjusts his course to head for it. He didn’t bring water with him and the back of his throat is starting to hurt when he swallows, a dry rasp in need of soothing.

Taking care not to slip, Peter treks down the riverbank. He crouches down scooping handfuls of water to his mouth, moaning softly when the ice cold liquid hits the back of his throat. He keeps his eyes downward until he has drunk his fill, moving out of the crouching position and leaning against a nearby boulder.

That’s when he sees the deer.

It’s beautiful, light caramel fur with huge velvet antlers. It bends down to drink, eyes still topaz bright despite the creature being in the shade of a laurel tree. And the scent, Peter has never smelt something so mouthwatering sweet, so delicate like brown sugar and gingerbread and orange peel. This deer isn’t a simple animal, it’s clearly something _other_.

The deer watches him, tilts its head to one side in consideration of the wolf disguised as boy. Peter finds himself standing, taking a step forward. He doesn’t think he could ever tire of looking at this beautiful creature, is hardly sated by just looking and in his haste forgets the river between them and falls in.

The deer tosses it’s great head, makes a throaty noise that could be laughter. Peter rubs water from his eyes, ignoring the deer’s mockery and wades across to the other side. Once he reaches the other bank, he is face to face with the delicate nose.

A loud cracking sound splits the air, bones breaking and reforming. The deer’s face ripples, melting back into that of a pale, freckled boy. A naked, freckled boy. He extends a hand, helping pull Peter up the bank.

The eyes have remained the same. Sphalerite gemstones watching Peter with mischievous curiosity.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in wolf territory?” Peter asks, slowly and deliberately raking his gaze over the boy’s lithe, muscular body.

“Just passing through,” the boy answers. He licks his pale pink lips. “Why, do I need permission?”

“It would be the polite thing to do.”

The boy laughs, a sound not dissimilar to the throaty noise he made earlier when Peter made a fool of himself. It’s a full body laugh, showcasing that fragile and biteable neck, the gentle slope of his collarbones. It’s then that Peter notes the tattoo, the black spidery handwriting underneath the left collarbone. _Let No One Touch Me, It Has Pleased My Caesar To Make Me Free_.

“You’re not the alpha,” the boy says, placing a finger beneath Peter’s chin to tilt it up, forcing Peter to look the boy in the eyes. “These eyes are blue not red. I do not need your permission for anything.”

“No,” Peter breathes, caught in a moment of true revery. The sunlight is behind the boy, draping him in soft golden light.

“What’s your name wolf?”

“Peter, and yours?”

“Stiles.”

Unusual name, though Peter supposes this boy is an unusual sort. He’s aware that the shape you take is reflective of who you are, not all shifters are wolves. A deer suggests an intelligence, a delicacy hiding a vicious nature. Those antlers were not blunt.

“So Peter, beta of the local pack, what should one do to win favour with your alpha?”

Peter smirks.

“I can suggest a few things.”

Stiles smile in response to Peter’s reply is downright lewd. He cups Peter’s face, runs a thumb over Peter’s lips. Peter takes it into his mouth, wraps a tongue around with considerable skill and sucks.

“Such a talented tongue,” Stiles murmurs. Peter pulls off with an audible pop.

“Would you like to see how talented my tongue can really be?”

Stiles leans down, kissing Peter sweetly. Peter reaches up, yanking Stiles into his lap whilst deepening the kiss, licking into that eager mouth.

Peter doesn’t have enough hands, he wants to touch everywhere. He settles for dragging his human nails down Stiles back, nipping at that plush bottom lip when Stiles gasps in surprise. He bets this pale skin marks up beautifully. He begins sucking a mark into the skin behind Stiles right ear, ripping away his running gear. He’ll run home in wolf form if he has to, he wants to feel Stiles skin against his own.

Peter runs his hands down Stiles rib cage, down to the vee of his hips. He drags his thumb over the hip bones, nuzzles at Stiles neck. Stiles hands are gripping Peter’s shoulders; they slide up Peter’s neck so that Stiles can tilt his face towards Stiles own and they kiss messily.

Stiles arousal is tantalising, that brown sugar sweetness present when Peter licks at the soft flesh of Stiles stomach. He ignores Stiles cock, maneuvering them so that Stiles is lying on the soft mossy ground and Peter can settle between Stiles spread thighs. He nips and sucks a possessive trail of dark bruises.

“Who knew wolves were such devilish teases?” Stiles gasps, the end of his sentence disappearing into a moan as Peter licks a stripe up Stiles cock. Peter tongues the head, pleased when Stiles’ hands find Peter’s hair and pull. Peter takes more of Stiles into his mouth, happy to let Stiles direct the pace.

Stiles is surprisingly tender, stroking Peter’s hair and the nape of his neck as he thrusts up into Peter’s mouth. Peter’s tongue lives up to it’s talented reputation, he is hardly letting himself be used. He wants Stiles to be wrecked, that high flush on his cheeks to spread to his entire body. Peter ignores his own hardness pulsing between his thighs.

“Aren’t you just perfect, letting me take what I want from you. Will you come from me using your mouth?”

Stiles keeps pouring out filth and praise, making it hard for Peter to control himself. His eyes flash, his claws rake down Stiles thighs.

“I think I want you to wait, I think I’ll decide when you can finish. Is that acceptable to you?”

  
Peter rumbles his agreement, wants anything Stiles will give him. Stiles thrusts a few more times, possessively tugging Peter’s hair as he comes down Peter’s throat. Peter swallows it all, sucking until Stiles goes soft before he pulls off. He nuzzles at Stiles belly, grunting in pleasure as Stiles nails scritch his scalp.

Stiles hauls Peter up for kiss, languid and sloppy. His hand slides down Peter’s stomach, taking Peter in hand and fisting his neglected cock. It doesn’t take long for Peter to come. Stiles traces Peter’s lips with the come covered hand. Peter laps at the fingers, licking them clean.

“Is that enough to win favour?” Stiles asks. He’s staring at Peter with a fond reverence. Peter noses at Stiles cheek, drawing Stiles into a chaste kiss.

“Oh far from it, you’ll certainly have to stay here longer.”

Stiles chuckles. Peter is starting to adore that sound.

“What a hardship, I guess if I must stay then I’m insisting on a bed for the second round.”

Peter grins. What a hardship indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr <3


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